Very Good, Jeeves!

by P.G. Wodehouse

Have you forgotten that a year ago I did thirty days without the option for punching a policeman in the stomach on Boat-Race night?’ ‘But you were whiffled at the time.’ ‘Exactly. What right has an inebriated jail-bird to aspire to a goddess?’

Unseen, in the background, Fate was quietly slipping the lead into the boxing-glove.

You make this, apparently, by soaking raisins in cold water and adding the juice of a lemon. After which, I suppose, you invite a couple of old friends in and have an orgy, burying the bodies in the morning.